


Home

by addicted2hugh



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Ficlet, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, John is Not Okay, John is a Mess, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, No Smut But Mentions of Sherlock's and John's First Time, POV John Watson, Sadness, Set Somewhere Before Reichenbach, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-01 10:48:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15141455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/addicted2hugh/pseuds/addicted2hugh
Summary: I'm not sure where this came from, but suddenly it was there. A short, very angsty ficlet about suffering a loss and having to deal with it somehow. Some manage, and some don't.





	Home

“Sherlock.”

You’re so beautiful.

I could spend the rest of my life looking at you.

Your lips, your perfect Cupid’s bow, your plump bottom lip – so teasing and pliant when we kiss, so vicious when you form the words that are sometimes too slow to keep up with your thoughts. So warm and dazzling when you smile at me. Your mouth is the vessel that holds the treasure of your voice, and when we make love and you pour a dark, barely-there moan into my throat, all my joints go weak. Every time. I want you to read to me tonight, to fall asleep with you, you, _you_ in my ears, my head, my heart.

Your eyes are unlike any I’ve seen before. They’re the most striking of your features, pools of blue ice speckled with little drops of liquid gold, framed by dark lashes. They’re so mysterious, so incredibly intense. I forget the world around me when you fix me with your gaze; nothing else matters but you and your attention, focused solely on me. Right now they are sparkling like jewels in the midday sun.

I brush my thumb across your sharp cheekbone and up to your temple, and then my fingers are in your hair, and I card them through the soft strands again and again until that is not enough anymore and I have to press my nose against your head, bury it in your ebony curls, inhale your sweet, familiar scent. Your head holds a mind that’s without equal – you’re brilliant, a marvel, a freak of nature, if you will, but you’re also still human. Most people don’t see, don’t understand that. They don’t even try. I’ve always known, ever since that first, wonderful day that turned my life around. You’re one of a kind.

And you’re mine.

I want to be with you like this forever.

I kiss your jaw, your lips, your nose, your brow.

I take your hand in mine and squeeze it, marvelling at those long, nimble fingers that draw ideas into the air when you speak, tracing every vein protruding from your pale skin, tracing every perfect bone and sinew that helps you to guide a bow across strings, to prepare a specimen for closer inspection under the microscope, to make my body burn under your touch when we’re alone. I caress the tender spot between your thumb and index finger, smoothing down the silky skin there with my fingertip.

When we first got together like this, this _new_ kind of together, I was surprised to find that I could fall so hard for another man. You taught me things about myself I’d never thought possible before. I wanted you, your body, all of you, so much. After a while, I realised that I should have been even more surprised to be _so_ in love with you, to love another human being as absolutely, deeply, _unconditionally_ as I love you. No one had ever awoken these feelings in me before you came along. Only you.

It’s always you.

You’re my life, my home, my _everything_.

I’d give my all to never have to part with you.

“Sherlock,” I whisper into your ear and place a tiny kiss on your earlobe. “I love you so much.”

Your beauty makes me want to cry, and I do.

Silently.

I put my arms around you and hide my face in the crook of your neck. You’re so warm there. My tears fall onto your alabaster skin, onto your collarbones, so perfectly shaped, so gracefully swung, like the work of the finest sculptor of the ancient world.

I’m sorry.

I can’t stop.

I’ll hold you forever.

I’ll never let you go.

\---

“John.”

It’s Molly’s voice, and her small hand on my shoulder.

I don’t react.

No.

I can’t.

Not yet.

“I’m so sorry, John,” she says lowly. “It’s time now. I’m so, so sorry.”

I look up. My head’s so, so heavy.

“No. Please,” I rasp, not recognising my own voice. “One more minute.”

She presses her lips together. I’ve never seen her look so sad before.

“We should close his eyes,” she says after a pause. “Do you want to do it with me?”

No. Not your eyes. Not your beautiful, beautiful eyes.

“Come on.”

She takes my hand, so gently, and puts it on your forehead. Together we push your lids down until those mesmerising irises are hidden behind thin, almost translucent curtains of skin, and when it’s done, all the light has vanished from the room.

“See,” she whispers. “He’s sleeping now. Let him sleep, okay?”

My heart is hurting so much. This is all _wrong_.

“Mrs Hudson is waiting outside. She’ll take you home when you’re ready.”

“Home,” I repeat. “Home.”

I take your hand again, rub my palm against yours, memorise your fingerprints pressing against my skin. How am I supposed to sleep tonight, without you by my side? How am I supposed to get up again tomorrow?

“No--- please. I can’t,” I stammer. “I can’t.”

I lean down to lay another long, soft kiss on your lips. I wish you’d respond, only one last time. I wish I’d taken my time to kiss and hug you properly this morning. I wish the last time I had you inside me hadn’t been a week ago. I wish I’d told you how much you mean to me before you left the flat to investigate, like you’d done a thousand times before. I wish I’d known you’d never come back.

I wish.

“I _can’t_ ,” I murmur, and then a sound I can’t control escapes my chest, like that of a wounded animal, and I’m so shocked by it that I begin to sob, loudly this time, and my legs give way and I have to hold on to the dissecting table to not break down, and that’s when I remember that Molly will have to do her job later, and that your body will no longer be whole afterwards.

“No,” I force out again. “ _No._ ”

Molly wraps me in her arms then and pulls me away from you, hugging me tightly, holding the back of my head.

“I know, John,” she says desperately. “I _know_. It hurts so much. I’m so sorry.”

I dig my fingers into her back, needing something to hold on to, and she lets me. She rocks me back and forth and once even kisses the side of my head, her body shaking with almost soundless little sobs that she’s trying to keep inside.

It takes me a while to calm down enough to talk.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper when I’ve found my voice again. I know she loves you too. “I’m sorry, Molly.”

She doesn’t answer.

We keep standing there, in the middle of the morgue, right next to where you’re resting on cold, shiny metal, until our tears run dry and we’re left empty, wordless, lost.

We’re lost without you.

I wonder if Mycroft knows, and whether he’ll come to say goodbye.

I think of Mrs Hudson sitting out there somewhere, waiting for me.

I wonder where “home” is, now that you’re gone.

\---

Do you remember the first time we made love?

It was a first time for both of us – my first time with a man, and your first time ever. I was so proud to be the first one you shared yourself with. The only one.

I think about your face, your cheekbones flushed with pink, your lips parted in anticipation. You were nervous, but not embarrassed. You trusted me, you said. With all of it. I have no idea what I’m doing, I told you. It was meant to be a warning, but you just grinned. There was nothing I wasn’t allowed to do with you. _To_ you.

It was an afternoon of slow passion, learning about each other, and you learned a few things about yourself then, too. You learned that it’s okay to let go. That you’re beautiful, everywhere. That you can take my breath away with a single look, a mere brush of your fingertip against my skin.

You were gorgeous when you found your completion in my arms. I watched your expression when it happened, when your release spilled out of you, running over my hand in unhurried, rhythmical pulses of warmth. And it _was_ a release for you. You were so open then, so relaxed, so _free_. I could feel it go through you, make you shudder deep inside. For those short, blissful seconds, all your demons were gone. It moved me to tears, and I pressed myself against your thigh and kissed your temple and fell, fell, _fell_ over the edge and into you.

We took a bath together afterwards, to clean ourselves ( _each other_ ) up, and to revel in the new closeness for a little longer.

I think of that now, as I sink into the water and feel it slosh around my thighs, my hips, my waist, my chest. I listen to its murmuring rush and let myself be lulled into a dreamy state.

I remember holding you, the back of your head leaning against my shoulder, your wet curls tickling my nose. I said I’d never thought you were a cuddler, and you laughed. The whole bathroom vibrated with that sweet, carefree sound your baritone so seldom produced, and I thought that if I had a mind palace, this moment would definitely go in there to be filed away, to be conserved, protected, looked at again and again. I held you tighter then and closed my eyes, and we almost fell asleep.

I close my eyes now, too, holding on to the memory of you resting in my arms, and allow myself to float a while, the water’s unsteady surface lapping at my chin.

I clench my teeth.

The Thames is so cold this time of year, and it’s the middle of the night. It won’t be long.

I can already feel myself going numb, my heartbeat slowing down, my breath becoming shallow.

Soon.

I’ll be with you again.

You’re here with me now, my love. It makes me forget the pain as my hands and feet start to burn. Your tender kiss takes away the agony of my muscles contracting all at once, trying to fight a hopeless battle that has long been lost.

As the water closes over my head, I smile.

When they (not Mrs Hudson, and not Lestrade; I’ve seen to that) find me – _if_ they do – I’ll be beyond all suffering.

I’ll be with you.

I’ll be home.


End file.
